“Why?” queried Mona.
“So you wouldn’t give me the mitten. Pardon, good friends, merely an interpolation. Back to work now. It was the nightingale and not a poll parrot that hit you in the ear.”
“Oh, Romeo, Romeo,” Mona broke in. “I’d like to cut you up into little bits of stars, and decorate the sky with you.”
“Call me but Star, and I’ll be baptised all over again. Friends, as we’re a little shy on lines, the rest of this will be pantomime.”
Roger then sneaked cautiously upstairs, motioned to Mona to make no sound, picked up various impedimenta, including books, vases, a statuette, and such things as he could find on the hall tables, added a good-sized rug, and then, also picking Mona up in his arms, he stealthily made his way downstairs again, and the elopement was successful.
“Roger, you strong giant!” cried Patty. “How could you carry all those things downstairs?”
“My warriors are all strong men!” said the Lord of Misrule. “They can carry off anything, and carry on like everything.”
And then, as Christmas Eve was well past, and Christmas Day had begun, the merry guests went away, and the house party congratulated itself all round, wished everybody Merry Christmas, and went away to rest.